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Published:
2023-12-09
Completed:
2024-02-19
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2,369
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2/2
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In Which Maeglin Plots to Cause Civil War in Beleriand to Get Out of His Arranged Marriage

Summary:

Fingon died in the Fifth Battle, and unfortunately this means that there needs to be a new diplomatic marriage to unite the Noldor, as was decreed many years ago (mostly to let Maedhros and Fingon get married).

Celebrimbor is the only option on the Fëanorian side, and Maeglin gets volunteered for his side of the family, and neither of them are happy with this arrangement.

Notes:

another of my xmas/new year's gifts! this doesn't cover the full plot of what i think could happen in this au, but it's nice and bite-sized, and i may come back to it after the other gifts are done :)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

When first the decree was put in place, that the line of Fëanor and that of Fingolfin must be united through marriage, it had half been to maintain peace and half to give Maedhros and Fingon an excuse to wed. But now, now that Fingon was dead, perished in the Fifth Battle which at last restored the upper hand to the peoples of Beleriand, the decree was a problem.

“I am not letting my son marry Idril,” Curufin hissed. “He never wanted to be caught up in this, and he doesn't even like níssi!”

Celebrimbor glared. He was perfectly capable of speaking for himself.

Maedhros rubbed his forehead and said just what Celebrimbor was thinking. “He can speak for himself. And he doesn't have to marry Idril, because Turgon informs me there's another heir, this one a nér who may be more suitable for Celebrimbor.”

“Are you telling me Turgon went and remarried?” said Curufin with a scoff. “You might want to check he didn't just pick some vassal of his to make a part of the family on paper for this. It's not as if--” He broke off. “Unless--?”

“I was wondering when you would figure it out,” said Maedhros drily. “It seems Aredhel perished sometime after she passed through your lands, but she left behind a son. A smith, even, and Turgon is reluctant to let him go. But Celebrimbor, it is you who will have to marry him. What do you think?”

“Everyone seems to have made up my mind for me,” said Celebrimbor, more than a little bitterly. “But I suppose I have to, if I don't want to be labeled a traitor to the crown. Will I have to go to Gondolin?”

“I think that can be avoided, so long as you have an alternative. Barad Eithel will do,” said Maedhros. “Someone has to run it, after all, and Fingon's folk will prefer to follow one of Fingon's heirs than you alone.”

 

 

“Ityë, I know you are already aware of the issue,” said Turgon, “but Lómion, I'm not sure how much your mother told you about it. There is a requirement that the royal houses be bound by marriage, and with the death of my brother, the duty falls now to one of you. I have sent a letter to Maedhros about it, as he is the best choice to communicate with young Celebrimbor, who as far as I know is the only option on their side.”

Idril crossed her arms. “Atto, I'm not marrying him. I foresaw someone, and it certainly isn't Celebrimbor.”

“At least you've met him,” said Maeglin, already knowing it wouldn't avail him. Turgon would never in a hundred thousand years make her do anything she didn't want to do, much less marry a Fëanorian, but Maeglin was far more expendable than she.

His fears were only confirmed when Turgon said, “Yes, both of you, I know. But Celebrimbor, when last I saw him, was a kind-hearted young man, and a skilled smith as well. Were he not a Fëanorian, he would be an acceptable spouse for anyone.”

“So you expect me to marry him, because surely an elf born of an unwanted marriage is the best suited for one?” Maeglin burst out. “Is it because you think I can best Ammë's record of eighty-four years? Or am I just not fit for anything else?”

“Lómion--” tried Turgon.

“I've heard enough. You've already made up your minds that I should go and marry someone I've never met who may well be worse than the rest of his family, for all we know,” said Maeglin, standing from the table. “When he kills me, or drives me to end myself, it will be your fault.”

He went and locked himself in his room, and spent the night awake, thinking how best to keep himself alive and whole as long as possible.

 

 

Since he couldn't get out of being married, and didn't dare voice objection to Turgon, Maeglin's latest activity was guilt-tripping Idril, for lack of a better target. He'd most likely be dead within a decade or two, and he wanted to be sure everyone would regret it when he did, but he wouldn't be able to get any satisfaction out of it then.

So every so often he'd casually say something like, “Going to the wedding may be the last time I'm ever allowed outside,” or “Do you think he'll cut out my tongue? I've had suitors tell me they would more than once,” or “I hope I live long enough to meet whoever it is you foresaw for yourself, if that wasn't just a convenient excuse,” and watched her expression falter. She always tried to tell him that Celebrimbor wasn't so bad, but her heart wasn't in it.

The rest of the time, he grudgingly cooperated with the wedding planning and bit his tongue to keep from screaming. He would be going to Barad Eithel soon and likely never leaving it again, and it likely wouldn't matter that he knew no one there because he wouldn't have any occasion to talk to them.

Turgon more than once promised that Celebrimbor had to treat him well, but it wasn't as if Turgon could enforce anything -- and it wasn't as if he would -- so he wasn't comforted in the least. But he didn't voice this.

The worst part was that, before everything, Turgon had implied he was ready to lead his own House, and would be granted that honor after the battle. When he'd gone to family dinner that night, he'd thought the announcement to be of a much better nature, and it still stung to be not only denied what he wanted but to be sacrificed so Idril didn't have to inconvenience herself by needing to comb through the legal codes and decrees to find an out. She was lucky enough that she would have found one.

So it was a numb and deadened Maeglin who went to Barad Eithel and met his husband-to-be.

Celebrimbor was much, much taller than he, and smiled only reluctantly at him, as if he didn't particularly want to be married either and would be taking it out on Maeglin just as soon as they were alone. It wasn't as if Maeglin would have any recourse even if someone saw, but it might damage Celebrimbor's reputation, since for the moment he needed Maeglin in order to be accepted as the lord of Barad Eithel.

There was a little safety in that, at least until Celebrimbor had a firm grasp on power and could get rid of him, but Maeglin would press any advantage he could get. He squared his shoulders and greeted his betrothed, already hatching plots in his mind.

If things went too badly, he could run to Thingol and tell him that Curufin’s son had forced him to marry him, which would most likely start a civil war in Beleriand but would also get him out of the marriage. He could keep that option in his back pocket (it wasn’t as if he wanted to start a civil war if he didn’t have to) and feel secure that if he could make it to Doriath he would be safe.

 

 

Celebrimbor really didn't know what to make of Maeglin, even after two weeks of living next door to one another in Barad Eithel and sharing most meals, even after their wedding, which they were returning from now.

Maeglin hadn't showed more than the faintest hints of having a personality, even though Turgon's letters had warned Celebrimbor to expect a sharp and caustic nér, and though he freely admitted his reluctance to be married he never tried to avoid any part of it. As far as Celebrimbor knew, he didn't even work at his craft, and that was just unhealthy.

Turgon had already sent them both letters asking if all was well, and Maeglin had ignored his, along with all the other well-wishes from Gondolin. In fact, Celebrimbor was fairly sure he had burnt them without reading them, which only raised more questions.

But Celebrimbor was pulled from these thoughts. As soon as he shut the door to their rooms behind them, he saw Maeglin pull a jeweled pin from his hair, letting his hair tumble down loose. Celebrimbor's mouth went dry.

Maeglin turned to him and said, “Shall we make a deal, husband?”

“What do you mean?” said Celebrimbor.

“Neither of us wants this marriage,” he said bluntly. “I'll be the perfect husband to you for -- let's say eighty-four years, no more than that. Until then I'll be whatever you like, and then I leave and you don't cause a fuss. We can even still be married, if you don't want to have to marry Idril after all, but I'll be gone.”

For some reason, Celebrimbor's first reaction was to say, “That's an awfully specific timeframe.”

“I'm willing for it to be shorter.”

“I only mean -- is the idea of being married so intolerable? Can't we try to make it work?” said Celebrimbor. “I won't keep you from going when you're ready to go, but I don't like giving up before starting.”

Maeglin's lips curled into a smile that made no attempt to seem real. “Intolerable would be the correct word. You're welcome to try, and I did say I'd be a good spouse to you, but if it doesn't work, don't hinder me in leaving. Eighty-four years.”

Wondering what he'd gotten into, Celebrimbor echoed, “Eighty-four years.”

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

surprise! a little follow-up! i told you i'd get around to it lol

Chapter Text

Celebrimbor saw the letter from Turgon and sighed before opening it. Turgon hadn’t stopped sending these, by some secret means, since even before the wedding, each of the missives pleading more desperately than the last.

“Your uncle has written to us again,” he told Maeglin as he sat down in their drawing room and opened the letter.

Maeglin pressed his lips together. “Good for him. Perhaps he ought to have taken an interest in the wellbeing of those outside his walls before now, so as not to look like such a hypocrite.”

They’d been married now for two and a half months, and Maeglin had answered very few questions about himself and his life in Gondolin, to the point where even Maedhros’s many lessons in conversation failed to avail Celebrimbor. He barely even seemed to have opinions, not on anything but Turgon’s attempts to reach him, all of which he tossed in the fire.

The two of them hadn’t bonded, and in fact hadn’t so much as spoken of it. Celebrimbor was waiting for Maeglin to bring it up first, and rather suspected that Maeglin was waiting for him. This wasn’t disagreeable, so leaving it alone seemed prudent.

“What news should I give him this time?” said Celebrimbor, knowing the answer.

“I suppose he can know that one of the outer walls of the fortress is fully repaired. So long as my name doesn’t come into it,” said Maeglin. Celebrimbor had a suspicion that Maeglin wanted to make it look as though he’d run away and wasn’t in Barad Eithel at all, but he didn’t know what aim this would serve.

“He only writes me at all because you won’t respond to him. I doubt he’d lower himself to speaking to a Fëanorian, even one who’s disowned himself, if he weren’t desperate for news,” said Celebrimbor. “Is there anything I ought to tell him, or should he keep thinking you’re not here? In this one he’s accusing me of covering for your flight.”

“If he wanted to know about me, he should’ve kept me locked up in Gondolin. Let him stew,” said Maeglin.

Celebrimbor complied, writing nothing directly of Maeglin in his return letter. Sooner or later, he trusted that Maeglin would tell him the reasons behind all his odd behavior, and until then Celebrimbor could only try to help him arrange matters as he wanted.

“Would you like to do anything in particular today?” said Celebrimbor. “We’re ahead on our work. I was thinking of going into the forge for a while, or having a picnic.”

“I'll accompany you,” said Maeglin, which was the best Celebrimbor could really expect. He never seemed to do any craft of his own, though he was clearly familiar with being in a smith's workshop and had training, and didn't speak about craft either. But today Maeglin said, casually as if it were nothing of import, “I used to be a smith. It's nice to be in a forge again sometimes.”

“Really? You've never said! Would you want to make something?” said Celebrimbor, already delighted to have found something out about his husband.

But Maeglin drew back. “Oh, no. I used to be a smith, but not anymore, and I really wasn't very good. Certainly not up to the standards of you and your folk.” He kept his tone neutral, but in Maeglin's thoughts, which he didn't seek to hide from Celebrimbor, he could feel how much it bothered Maeglin to insult his own skill.

“I’d still love to work with you, if you’re willing,” said Celebrimbor. “Or you can use the workshop by yourself, if you don’t want me underfoot.”

Maeglin hesitated. “I might like that,” he said slowly, “but not -- not today.”

Celebrimbor nodded and dropped the subject. Pushing him would be rude, especially after he’d volunteered a personal detail unprompted. “Then would you prefer to go and picnic in a courtyard? Or further out? Though we might need to bring guards for that.”

“Further out,” said Maeglin, and Celebrimbor patted himself on the back for figuring out this way of convincing Maeglin to make some small choices for the two of them. “I’ll go and see what food we can bring. If you want to make a habit of this, bringing along guests as a favor might give you finer-grained control of the court.”

“Us,” said Celebrimbor. “And maybe in the future, but I’d like to have just one afternoon without politics. We can go up to the springs of Sirion.”

Maeglin nodded and went out to see what the kitchens could provide them, but in the little bit that Celebrimbor could feel of his thoughts, there was the tiniest hum of contentment. Celebrimbor could be satisfied with that.

 

Notes:

thanks for reading!! please leave comments and kudos if you liked it :)